


The art of learning to love oneself.

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Domestic Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friendship/Love, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infrequent Swearing, Krem and Bull got a bromance like no other, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, Physical Abuse, Protective inquisitor, References to Depression, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dorian has grown used to mistreatment, and has had his heart broken too many times to focus on the bad moments. So instead he relishes in the good, and blocks out the times when once gentle hands turn rough and love turns violent.That is until he met The Iron Bull.





	1. Reliving

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Take What I Can Get](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11348607) by [memoriesofrain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memoriesofrain/pseuds/memoriesofrain). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to orphan this fic so people who like it can still read it. To be honest I'm sick of seeing it, I feel like I may of made some poor choices plot wise :D I guess that's the reason why I don't write multi chapter stuff.
> 
> If you read and like this fic, thank you :)

It was painful. And exhausting

The looks of disapproval. The temporary affection from one man after the other; each ill fated relationship ending like the last. Heart broken, mended and broken again. It was all a sick game to them. Dorians body a pawn to be played with and cast aside.

“Bet you can’t even get off unless someone is treating you like rubbish.”.

The painful words, spilled from his past lovers lips as a harsh hand collided with his cheek. Followed by a kick when his body met the floor. Blood, bright against his tan skin, ran thick under his nostrils, over his lips. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his ribs. Tears began to fall down his cheeks, joining the blood to form a diluted mixture which dribbled down his throat and in between his collarbones.

“Julius,” Dorian groaned, struggling to breathe through the pain in his ribs and the tears threatening to flow harder causing pathetic sniffles. “Please stop! I-I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Please!”

Julius merely glared down at him in rage. His once gentle, loving hands now rough and painful.

What had Dorian done? Shown him affection in front of others.

Dorian had assumed their relationship serious, had seriously thought that Julius cared for him enough to ignore the harsh words of others. To turn away from those who view their relationship as wrong or disgusting. He was incorrect. Of course he was only a dirty little secret to Julius. A thing to be played with, same as last time, and the time before that.

In one final fit of anger, Julius grabbed Dorian roughly by his collar. The stronger man dragged Dorian across the room and, in one quick movement, threw him out of his home. Dorian landed harshly in the dirt, coughing at the rising dust. The sting of spit on his cheek.

“Don’t bother coming back.”

 

Dorian stared blankly ahead, lost in thoughts of the past. His hand was gripping his mug, knuckles white as the seemingly random flashback shook through his body.

“Hey Vint! Want a refill?” the bartender asked, gruff as ever.

“I… erm… no-no thank you, I think I’ve had enough,” Dorian said, still slightly taken a back by the flashback. He got up, albeit slowly, his hands still shaking as they flattened on the table in preparation to heave his body weight up from the bar stool. He stumbled slightly, almost drunkenly, when his feet touched the ground. Dorian suddenly felt a strong grip on his arm, a barrier preventing his fall, and flinched much more violently then he intended.

“Are you alright Dorian?”

It was Krem. Dorian glanced up, and was surprised at the hint of concern in the Lieutenants eyes. _Good actor_ , he mused briefly, hyper aware of Krems’ real feelings towards him. _He thinks you’re a pompous prick, you’re inconveniencing him._ “The Chief noticed you were looking a little lost, I decided to come check on you.”

_Ah that’s why._

Bull was one of the few in the Inquisition that didn’t look upon him with distain. The hulking Qunari was always kind to Dorian, or at least tolerated him. _Probably because he feels bad,_ the anxious part of his brain helpfully provided. A sudden, burning rage over came Dorian. He wasn’t a _child_ , he didn’t need to be _checked on_ or _cared for_ , he needed to be _left alone!_ The mage pulled his arm out of Krems grip roughly, causing him to step back instinctively. Dorian shot him a piercing glare, “I’d appreciate it if you let me be Cremisius.” There was a dangerous venom to his tongue.

His attempts at intimidation fell short when the only thing he saw in the younger man’s eyes were shock and concern.

Dorian grumbled incoherently, thankfully gaining enough composure to stalk his way out of the tavern. After slamming the door, he leaned heavily on the outside wall, the candle that served as his rage well and truly extinguished. The mage covered his eyes with cool hands, rubbing in circles before moving to his temples. It had been years since he’d had thoughts of his past lovers. Years. As the bitter air touched his skin, he felt hollow and tired and small. _Maybe some rest will serve me well_ he thought, beginning the trek towards his Chambers.

 


	2. Loose Grip

His smaller body was shoved hard against the wall, causing sharp pain to shoot up his back and shoulders like a well aimed arrow to the spine. Before he could process what had happened, he was tossed carelessly to the ground, meeting the wooden floor with a _thump_. Dorian managed to scrape enough energy to bring his arms up beside him, grunting roughly at the effort, and push himself up off the ground. The mage half expected a blow as he arose but it never came. He turned to see that his lover had left the room, likely to drink himself into a stupor before he returns for untruthful apologies and make up sex. Shifting, albeit painfully, into a sitting position, Dorian pressed his back firmly against the wall. His body hurt. He could never do anything right; could never stop the hateful gaze from seeping into the eyes of those he loved most. Bringing trembling knees up to his chest, Dorian clamped his eyes shut. Shame filled what felt like every fiber of his being, he was Dorian Pavus, Tevinter noble, skillful with magic, devilishly handsome. Not some pathetic weakling to be left sniveling after a petty argument. _Yes, that’s what it was, an argument, nothing more. My fault, it won’t happen again. If I wasn’t so foolish he wouldn’t of hit me,_ Dorian mentally reasoned.

He awoke suddenly, breathing too hard, sweat dripping off his shoulders and down his back, onto the satin sheets. Remembering that moment of pain, of _weakness_ , had left Dorian Pavus shaken to his core. Dorian placed a hand to his heart, feeling the unnaturally rapid pace at which it was beating. He smoothed a hand through his thick waves, wet with sweat, in an attempt to calm himself.

Looking out the window, Dorian suspected it was barely into the morning. Birds tweeted loudly, but the sky was still mostly dark, casting a shadow over his room and distorting into frightening shapes at the sharp edges of his furniture. He shook his head to hopefully will the images away. Dorian threw his legs quickly over the side of his bed, and got up just as fast. He fumbled in the dark for a moment in an attempt to find something to cover his bare chest, eventually coming across a silk robe which had been tossed on a chair. He pulled it up his arms and across his back frantically, frustrated at the silk sticking to his sweat dampened skin. Tying it at the waist, he left his room quickly, grabbing a bottle of wine which was situated conveniently under his bed for nights spent reading.

Dorian headed down the small staircase, now only noticing his bare feet as they slapped irritatingly against the wooden floor. As he entered the atrium he failed to look at his surroundings, and winced at the sudden shuffling and now apparent candle light from within. Solas, serious as ever, was sat reading at his desk. _Was reading_ , Dorians mind helpfully added. His frazzled appearance must of intrigued the elf who promptly asked, “are you alright Dorian?” upon seeing him.

“I-I,” Dorian stammered, his usual composure gone. Solas, now obviously concerned, rose from his chair. He placed his pale hand on Dorians shoulder, thin fingers lightly squeezing.

“It’s alright,” Solas said in an obvious attempt to comfort, his usually serious and stern expression rejected for one of wisdom and understanding. Despite the intended kindness of the gesture, Dorian _cringed_. Forcing his voice to remain steady, he straightened and shrugged the hand off.

“I’m fine, Solas.” Dorian said, feigning confidence. Solas looked disbelieving, but lowered his hand.

“If you wish to speak, you know where I am,” he resigned with a slight bow of the head, before returning to his desk. Dorian sighed too loudly, before scuttling out without another word to the elf. He practically ran through the main hall to the outside staircase.

The mage sat of the second to bottom step opening the wine bottle which was now practically calling his name. Once opened he took a swig, followed by another sigh. His demons still remained strong, but with the alcohol in his system they were muffled, and easier to ignore. Dorian just stared blankly ahead now, eyes half lidded, mentally exhausted. His robe had slipped, exposing his shoulder to the harsh air.

He ignored the footfalls descending the stair case.

Even when feet stopped behind him he didn’t glance over, still staring ahead wrapped in his own thoughts. His only acknowledgement of the figure was when they sat beside him was a slight nod of the head and another gulp of the wine.

“Rough night, eh? Saw you earlier, didn’t get a chance to say anythin’,” The Iron Bulls low voice rumbled in the silence of the early morning. Dorian merely replied with a humph, still not looking at him.

“What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Bull chuckled, but his smile dropped as he realised Dorian didn’t respond, “servant girl wanted my time, I was happy to oblige.”

Something about this struck something in Dorian.

“Is that what you do? Use people? Play with their feelings, make them feel for you and them leave them, laugh it off as something casual that didn’t mean anything?”

He dared to glance over, only to see Bulls’ eye juggle a load of emotions at once. Hurt, confusion. _Anger_ , Dorian suddenly realised. He felt a spike of fear, and began to back up, shuffling across the stairs.

“I didn’t know you thought of me in that way, Dorian,” Bull began, “but I can assure you that everything I do is consensual, healthy and requi-“ he cut himself off once he saw Dorians increased trembling, fear in his eyes. “Dorian I-“

“Just leave Bull! Go away! You try to help and you can’t, you’re just a brute who cares for nothing other than your carnal desires! Just leave.” Dorian had practically curled in on himself now, breathing hard and fast, distress visible in his frame.

Bull looked on sadly, before nodding and taking his leave in silence.


	3. Helpful Entity

“Dorian?”

A finger poked him firmly in the cheek. His eyes clamped shut tighter.

“Dorian wake up, you’re freezing .”

Dorian groaned. He outstretched his arm, knocking over the discarded wine bottle. It bounced down the step before meeting the ground with a _clang_ that felt like a punch to his head. He cracked open his eyes slightly; immediately shutting them again. It was bright. He groaned again. “Dorian you have to get inside. I’ll help.” Dorian heard shuffling, before his body was maneuvered into a sitting position, his arm thrown over the shoulder of the intruder. “You smell of alcohol, ” they said matter of factly, “and sweat.”

Dorian had barely gathered his wits, his mind still hazy with alcohol, when he was pulled ungracefully to his feet. He staggered, and fell into a thin chest. Dorian didn’t have the energy to push himself up, grateful for the thin arms hooked under his armpits and the lone hand rubbing his back. “There there, it’s alright, you’re drunk Dorian.” Dorian hiccupped in confirmation. “I’ll help,” they repeated.

Cole hauled the half conscious Dorian with surprising strength, bringing him up the stairs and through Solas’ quarters. The pale elf looked on sadly, nodding at the boy who waved off his aid and continued on his journey.

Breathing hard, Cole eventually got Dorian to his sleeping space in the library. The drunken mage mumbled in distress when Cole lowered him into his satin covered cot, surprisingly small for Dorians usually extravagant nature. Cole figured he turned down the Inquisitors offer of a room in favour of being close to the many books. The room was mostly bookshelves, oddly devoid of dust unlike the rest of the furniture, which was mostly the bed and a threadbare chair. Novels were everywhere: shelves, stacked on tables and resting at the end of his bed. The sheets were satin, and deep purple, but we’re hanging off the bed in an untidy manner. Underneath the bed were more books, and a smaller bottle of ale.

 Cole sat in the chair near by, deciding to wait for Dorian to sober up. The man seemed sad, hurting, and it pained Cole. He felt his urge to heal, to help, to find the source of the pain and destroy it.

“Cole?” the man mumbled, sitting up despite the spirit telling him to rest.

“I’m here Dorian.”

The mage seemed stricken, his watery eyes glazed and pain filled. This made Coles’ chest ache in a way he didn’t know his body was capable of. Dorian didn’t seem like he was going to take his advice, so Cole decided to begin slowly chipping away at the wall Dorian had built around himself. Following Varrics’ advice to be gentle, and not poke and prod at pain, Cole started slow. “Why were you drinking on the steps Dorian? Surely you’d be more comfortable in your room or the tavern?”

Dorian looked away, rubbing his eyes. Cole tried a different approach.

“Pain, he’s too rough, hands too strong. Want him to stop, try, try to push him away but he’s stronger than me. _It’s all your fault!_ Loud voices, ringing ears, back against the wall. _He's right, it is my fault._ Oh, but it’s not your fault Dorian.” Cole shifted so he sat next to the distraught man on the bed. He hesitated, but placed his hand on Dorians’ shoulder. “No one deserves this, everyone deserves kindness, deserves help.”

 

Dorian had now completely given up on any attempt to keep his past a secret from Cole. He was far too sober for this conversation, despite his earlier drink.

“Maybe I do deserve this, Cole.”

The silence was intoxicating. Eating him up and spitting him out. He found himself leaning into the spirits shoulder, meeting no rejection. “Maybe I was doomed from the start. I thought leaving Tevinter, leaving my parents, would help but I’ve only met rejection and hatred here too,” Dorian sighed, glancing over. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true! People in Skyhold are just more polite about it. I know Sera thinks I’m pompous and Solas thinks I’m rude; Josephine is only polite because she’s been raised to be. Blackwall _spat_  on me, Cole.”

Dorian would of continued to rant if it wasn’t for the small hand on his shoulder. “Love is not the same as violence Dorian, friendship is not the same as abuse,” the boy thought for a moment, “you’ve spent your whole life distrusting of people, but you don’t have to do that any more Dorian. While what you say may be true, it’s not for all. The Inquisitor idolizes you Dorian, you’re one of her best friends, Vivienne admires your taste, though she wouldn’t admit it.” Dorian laughed at that, choking slightly on his tears. This encouraged Cole. “And The Iron Bull, well, he can’t stop talking about you.”

Dorian froze.

“W-What?”

Nervously, Cole repeated. Dorian shocked look changed to one of confusion, and then panic. He stumbled out of bed, the alcohol still in his system, and moved to the door. He spared time for a quick thank you to the spirit, before disappearing.

Cole was confused.

 

 


	4. An Apology

Dorian jogged down the stairs for the second time that morning, uncomfortably sober. It was brighter now, though still dim. The sky had changed to a haunting blue- grey and birds had just began to arise and fly about, casting shadows on the stone. There was a sharp chill in the air, meeting Dorians skin like a slap, causing him to shiver all over, teeth chattering with cold and thinly veiled anxiety. Every breath caused a puff of condensation to appear in front of his lips and around his nostrils. His frozen feet slipped across the stones, slick with ice and water. He paused to balance slightly on one leg, attempting to shake the feeling back into his frozen ankles.

  
Reaching the Heralds Rest was a relief. He attempted a slight knock, but faltered when he realised no one would answer. Instead he took a deep breath, before pushing into the tavern.

  
It was jarring. The silence.

  
The Rest was usually exuberant, full to the brim with sound and color and smells. The Chargers usually occupied a corner, Bull in the center, telling over enthusiastic and fairly exaggerated stories of fights and valor. Laughter could be heard across Skyhold when they arrived. When Dorian first encountered this frivolous display, anxiety had struck deep in his core. Of course he was used to large crowds, that wasn’t the issue, but he had been presented with the frightening thought that their laughter would be turned to him. Cruel, horrible , terrifying thoughts of being bothered more than he normally was due to their powerful influence on the locals. People _liked_ the Chargers.They didn’t like Dorian.

 

Dorian was surprised when the group had invited him over, offered to buy him a drink and share the tales everyone in the tavern had heard countless times before. He was surprised when he accepted. Several people had moved from their table when he sat down, eyeing him with disgust, but Bull clapped him on the shoulder and told him to ignore them. Krem eyed him with distrust at first, handsome features scrunching up into a look of doubt and disgust. Dorian remembered the feeling of self consciousness rushing through him, before the other man smirked a greeted him with a nod of the head.

  
Now the Rest was silent, darkness enveloping the floor. Me moved slowly, hands in front as if to guide him through the room he already knew so well. His visits to the pub were shamefully frequent. He smirked slightly when he realised that he no longer simply came for the pleasure of getting drunk, no longer finding himself frequently stumbling about Skyhold. Instead he came for the people, the repetition of jokes and stories, his _friends_.

  
Dorian found the stairs, climbing up them slowly, almost gingerly. He cringed at the squeak of the old wood. As his feet met the wood of the first floor; he glanced up, seeing Sera’s door closed. Despite the early morning, he couldn’t help but hear the high pitched giggling coming from within. _Ah she’s with the Inquisitor then._ Dorian smiled fondly. Truthfully, he envied Sera and Ella’s relationship. They understood each other, Ella’s kind and slightly serious demeanor contrasting Sera’s fun loving, opinionated attitude. In any other situation. This would of made a rocky relationship but the seriousness allowed Sera to calm down more, spending more time trying to understand others instead of fear them. Likewise, Sera’s positive influence had allowed Ella to stress less and appreciate little things in life. He’d also noticed the slight sarcasm and childishness humor that had drilled its way into Ella’s vernacular.

  
His thoughts moved to Ella, how close they had become. She’d been his first friend in the Inquisition, and had always shown kindness and respect. He had found himself confiding in her about his father and how his sexuality was viewed in Tevinter. She had shown him undying support, being protective without being overbearing, showing him the utmost respect. She visited him in the library when he stayed late, research taking all of his attention. She had stood at his alcove, a tray of food in her hands and a smile at her lips. “Need company?”

  
Dorian smiled at the thought. _Perhaps I could tell her._ He shook the thought out of his head.

  
Before he knew it, he was at Bulls door. Inside seemed quiet, and no light shined in the crack under the door. Dorian took a moment to adjust his appearance, running a hand through his hair and tightening his gown. Dorian lifted a hand, thin fingers clenching into a fist. He rapped his fist against the door firmly. He swallowed, shifting his weight awkwardly. There was shuffling from the inside, the clink of metal, before the sound of feet against wood.  
The door opened, revealing Bulls burly form. Dorian immediately noticed the amount of sweat on his body, how it accentuated the scarring on his chest. He looked up, notice that Bull was devoid of his usual eye patch, leaving only the bare mutilated remains of eyelid and eye socket. Dorian stared, stomach twisting in knots without his consent.

  
Bull seemed to notice this.

  
“Something like need Dorian,” Bull sighed, his voice still kind, only making Dorian feel more guilty about his earlier outburst.

  
“I needed to talk to you, can I please come in.”

  
Dorian was nervous, wringing his hands and looking anywhere but Bulls eye. He was twitching uncharacteristically, rolling is shoulders. Bull seemed to sense his unease.  
“Come on,” he said, moving out the way. Revealing the dimly lit room, only source of light being the window and hole in the roof. Despite his anxiety, this still made Dorian roll his eyes. He stepped inside, looking around, trying to force his eyes to adjust. The room was large, the center adorned with a large  
He jumped at Bulls deep voice, “what was it you needed Dorian.”

  
He sounded tired, fed up, and it did nothing for Dorians anxiety. He thought back to what Cole said. Dorian felt immense guilt for what he said to Bull. Even thinking of comparing Bull to one of the abusive idiots he’d dated made his stomach churn. How could he? He closed his eyes, counting down in his head to try and soothe himself. _It’s not that hard. Just apologize. Kaffas Pavus you’re making a fool of yourself._

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
Bulls head tilted slightly in confusion, before understanding came over his features. _No wait let me finish_.

  
“Bull I didn’t mean to snap at you, it’s just, I’ve been dealing with something I just cannot speak about an-“

  
He was silenced by Bulls calloused hand on his cheek. Only then he’d noticed the tears on his cheeks. Bull was looking at him strangely. _Pity_. For the first time he didn’t seem to mind, merely thankful for the forgiveness.

  
“It’s alright Dorian.”

  
Dorians eyes looked up into Bulls, a hollow laugh escaping him.

  
“Thank you.”

 

 


	5. Hand to hold

“I don’t know where to begin.”

  
Dorian gazed out the window absentmindedly, a lone hand twisting is moustache, brows furrowed. This was hardly the conversation he wanted to be having while sober.

  
“Well if the story’s apparently interesting enough to leave you passed out on the castle steps I would like to hear it.”

  
“Cole told you that?”

  
“He tells me everything, I think I became his best friend when I taught him how to make cookies that one time.”

  
That earned a chuckle from Dorian as he remembered the image.

  
Ella sat across from him in the window sill they currently shared. Her knees were drawn up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them as she stared at him curiously, the smallest hint of concern in her eyes.  
It had been a week since his first flashback, and they had continued to haunt him in the form of night terrors, leaving him slightly disheveled with dark circles under his eyes. Ella had called him to her chamber, obviously curious after Coles retelling of the night and the way her favorite mage appeared to be avoiding her.

  
Dorian looked away from her curious gaze, slightly uncomfortable. It was strange to feel this way around her, ever since they had become friends there had been an unspoken but unbreakable trust between the two.  
He looked around the room, trying to gather the words to speak, to tell his friend that he wasn’t always the strong confident individual he made himself out to be. The Inquisitors room was large and impressive, much unlike his little alcove in the library. It was bathed in light from the large windows that adorned the walls, and the beautiful balcony where they often sat during days when the suns heat was too uncomfortable to stay cooped up inside.

In one corner of the room sat a desk, large covered to the corners with paper and books and no doubt important documents. It’s the desk that she spoke about hiding under during her first kiss with Sera, she had leaned against his chest, pointing and giggling at the very spot where the elf had finally returned her affections.

  
Dorian sighed, the thought of love and kisses a little too much right now.

  
“Dorian?”

  
He had obviously been silent for too long. His suspicions where confirmed at the look of total concern on her face. She twisted, grabbing his arm before leaning into his chest and throwing it over her shoulder in an awkward but comforting embrace. She wrapped thin arms around his chest, giving him a light squeeze, before loosening and settling for simply laying against him. He sighed, returning the hug with one arm, wrapping it tight around her shoulders.

  
“I’ve been having intrusive thoughts. _Flashbacks_. It started in the tavern last week.”

  
Only now did Dorian notice he was trembling, fine fingers twitching uncomfortably. Ella let out a soft hum, nodding her head slightly, beckoning Dorian to continue. He closed his eyes, mustering courage. “I always fell in love too easily Ella. I’ve always done my best to try and win affection. I was proud to be labelled as some exotic beauty. After all, I’ve never been truly wanted by somebody. I was always their dirty little secret in Tevinter!”

  
Tears were flowing now and Dorian was failing to stop them, instead he spluttered, speaking faster and faster. “It started off affectionate. They were gentle and kind and _liked me._ _Actually liked_ me, Ella! And so when they started to get rough and violent I just told myself that’s what loves like.”

  
Ella had stiffened against his chest. Slowly rising up from the hug so she could look him in the eyes. Red hair fell over her face as she reached up, cupping his cheeks in her hands. She stared at him intently.

  
“Listen to me, love.”

  
He stopped his hatred fueled muttering to look at her.

  
“Dorian, you are worth more than this. That is not love. They didn’t love you Dorian.” At these words, Dorian began to sob harder, shoulders trembling.

  
“Believe me when I tell you this, I will never let any man hurt you again.”

  
Ella’s brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed, the seriousness in her tone made Dorian shudder. He was flattered at the lengths she was willing to go to protect him.  
Without another word, Ella pulled him into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders. Dorian returned the hug once again, unashamed to show weakness in front of her. He buried his face in her shoulder.

The sun shone brightly over Skyhold. Its gentle rays casting soft shadows on the trees and causing light tan to color the freckled skin across Ella’s exposed shoulders. There was still a gentle wind, providing a salvation from the boiling rays. It also made the fabric of Ella’s dress flow uncharacteristically gracefully around her legs. She grinned, doing an over exaggerated spin, causing her dress to blur in a flurry of blue and white. Dorian smiled.

  
They walked hand in hand in Skyhold courtyard, Ella rambling about her latest adventure in Emprise du Leon. Dorian shivered as she recounted, glad he hadn’t been brought along for that particular quest. Still he listened intently, nodding along, laughing at her overt gestures.

  
He stopped suddenly, staring.

  
At the training ground, Bull sparred with Krem

The Iron Bull, who he’d been avoiding for a week.

  
He swung the training weapon at the younger man, who parried quickly. Krem was smaller in size, but matched Bulls strength in combat, fighting the Qunari with steadfast concentration.

  
The Inquisitor had stopped talking, following Dorians gaze. A smirk fell on her lips. She let go of his hand, looping her arm around his instead.

  
“Like what you see?” she laughed. “Bull or Krem?”

  
Dorian shook his head, cheeks darkening, “I have no idea what you mean dear Inquisitor.”  
Yet he let himself be dragged along by the determined woman, towards the grounds. When they got close enough, the two stopped sparring. Krem turned around, sweat in his hair and dripping down his back. He greeted the Inquisitor with a cheeky wink and smirk, causing her to bat him away playfully. He nodded at Dorian. The mage looked away, remembering him snapping at Krem the week before. Krem frowned but shook his head quickly, giving Ella a quick one armed hug before walking away. The Iron Bull approached as he left.

  
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said, smiling at Ella. _Everyone seems to love her._

  
“Well my dear friend Dorian here wanted to say hello,” she replied, playful and lighthearted as always. Bull smiled at that, turning to Dorian.

  
“I haven’t spoken to you in a while.”

  
Dorian shifted uncomfortably, looking away.

  
“I’ve been… busy.”

  
Bull laughed at that, seemingly unoffended at Dorians avoidance. Dorian felt guilty, but he truly had no idea how to speak to someone normally after an emotional outburst. _Except Ella, of course. He probably thinks me weak._

  
He’d been doing better recently, Ella being a massive help with his flashbacks, but he was still tired and shaken. Ella and Bull had broken into lively conversation, which he tuned out of, thoughts turning to darkness and self hatred. _Do you seriously have so little control of yourself? Crying in front of another? Pathetic._

  
His mind was silenced by a tap on theshoulder. “What?” he said, unusually irritable. 

“I was asking if you wanted to join me for drinks later?” the Bull looked down at him

  
Ella beamed.


	6. Like I've never felt before

It was fine.

  
The Chargers spoke loudly, stentorian voices adding to the otherwise booming noise of the tavern, causing it to overflow, a wave of noise hitting him almost causing him to stagger where he sat. The Chargers spoke across the table, some acknowledging him and some not. He stared ahead, nursing his drink slowly.

  
His eyes caught those of a man at the bar, who winked at him mischievously.

  
Dorian only turned up because Ella seemed unable to wipe the look of smug happiness off her face after Bull had asked him. It was as if she knew he was avoiding him. His suspicion that she had planned this was only confirmed when she conveniently had to excuse herself from nights activities to do some Inquisitorial business, leaving Dorian alone with the Chargers drunken rowdiness and Bull staring at him expecting him to make small talk.

  
While it was true that Bull was one of the nicer members of the Inquisition when it came to Dorian, he would hardly call him a close friend. Frankly, it was strange that The Bull had suddenly upped his niceties to an irritating level. Dorian didn’t need to be invited for a drink because he cried in front of the other man once. But here he was.

  
_At least I look good I suppose._

  
Dorian had decided that if he was going to come, he needed to dress in a way that proved to Bull he wasn’t some delicate thing that needed to be cared for. He dressed with an aura of confidence and control. The robes he wore were azure, and hung off his body in gentle waves, caressing curves and accentuating lines in the way only a person with immaculate attention to detail would achieve. Red undertones of brown skin contrasted blues and whites, making him a spectrum of color and a picture of elegance incarnate. His black hair finished the rainbow on skin, providing a dark outline to sharp features and accenting the theme of elegance and grace with a loose wave. Dorian finished the opulent display with a gold colored necklace resting in between his collarbones and a nose ring. 

  
_I’ve seemed to of attracted more than I bargained for,_ Dorian mused as the man at the bar glanced over again. 

“So,” Bull stared, deep voice rumbling, sending a slight shiver up Dorians back which he fought to conceal, “how are you feeling?”

  
Dorian rolled his eyes, this time in plain view of the Qunari. “If the only reason you invited me was to coddle me like a child, then you needn’t invite me at all.” Dorian scoffed after that, taking a moment to glance at the Iron Bull. The Qunari appeared as if to say something, but silenced himself, choosing instead to focus himself by starting a conversation with his Lieutenant. He almost looked hurt by Dorians words.

  
Dorian felt a flow of guilt wash over him, but chose to ignore it. He threw back his drink in one fluid motion, calling for another. He would prove to Bull and Ella and whoever else was concerned that he was _fine_

  
The night kind of blurred after that.

  
Dorian drank. Blurring booze, drinks handed to him and slammed down when finished. Bull told him to slow down but he’d found a rhythm, determined to prove he was still confident and fun and not plagued by any kind of pathetic _fucking nightmares._

  
“I need some air,” he said rising, the entire situation suddenly giving him a eerie feeling of déjà vu. He stumbled out of the tavern, leaning heavily against the wall, drunkenness causing his vision to swim.

  
He heard the door open behind him, a gust of wind hitting his back from where he was turned away. Dorian tried to ignore it.

  
“Hey gorgeous, what’s got you upset?”

  
Dorian turned quickly, hands trembling slightly with cold and worry at confrontation from someone he didn’t know. He was surprised at the face meeting his. The man from the bar had a kind smile on his face, with wide eyes and fair skin. _Handsome_.

  
“I just needed some air you know,” Dorian hastily tried to recover from his earlier start. The stranger hummed in agreement, looking him up and down. There was no pity in his eyes, nor concern, just admiration. He looked at Dorian as of he was an expensive object. Perfected, protected, wrapped and rimmed with gold. In that moment Dorian couldn’t bring himself to be offended.

  
“I know what would cheer you up, beautiful.”

  
The man reached out, stroking his cheek with a soft thumb, cupping his jaw with a gentleness Dorian scarcely saw in a man. He looked at Dorian like a treasure, like a hunters prized catch, and it made Dorian feel as if there was no other in the world in that moment. The man’s finger lowered, touching his lips. Dorian found himself frozen, opening his mouth slightly and allowing the affectionate stranger to continue his ministrations.

The man grabbed his hand quickly, leading Dorian back into the tavern and up the stairs to a spare room. Dorian barely took in the surroundings or the peculiar fact that Bull had left the Chargers table, and Krem was looking at him with suspicion in his eyes.  
They where kissing before they opened the door.

  
In quick succession, a door was slammed, and Dorian found himself tumbling onto the bed kissing the stranger passionately. He was still drunk, his vision distorting at the fast pace, head pounding.

  
The man started to fumble with the buckles of his robe, mumbling praises while Dorian lay still, breathing heavy.

  
“You’re gorgeous aren’t you? An exotic beauty.”

  
Dorian froze, heart pounding in his ears.  _Exotic beauty_. The words spilled from a past lovers lips, hands rough, kissing him without asking. He felt branded; labelled as if he was some freak who’s sole purpose in life was to be groped and gawked at.

  
“S-stop I don’t want to.”

  
He pushed against the man’s chest, seeing double, he felt sick to his stomach. The man looked at him, kind eyes now angry.

  
“Oh I see how it is, fucking ‘Vint thinks he’s too good for me! You think you can get away with leading me on, whore.”

  
Dorian felt helpless, tears in his eyes, fight or flight kicking in. He pushed against the man’s chest again, but the man was sober, drunkenness not impairing his vision or strength. The man sat on his chest, straddling him before grabbing his arms, pinning them above his head with one hand, and continuing to strip him while he struggled. Dorian was disgusted and panicking, hard, hyperventilating breaths causing him to feel more lightheaded than before.

  
The stranger kissed his neck, before biting and sucking, marking his body. Tears were flowing now. Dorian was powerless to stop his invasion. “Just stay still and enjoy this, ‘Vint.”

  
_This can’t me happening, this isn’t happening! No, no, no, no!_

  
The invader slumped down hard on Dorians body, hands going slack on his wrist. A long, sharp dagger stuck out from in between his ribs.

  
In the doorway, Ella stood. A look of absolutely terrifying rage on her face. She was barely dressed, with only an oversized shirt to cover her bare chest and scantly covered legs. In her hand she held a second dagger, ready to be thrown. Behind her stood Bull, Krem and Sera, each with varying degrees of fear and concern on their faces, not only for him, but for the enraged Inquisitor.

  
Krem stepped in the room first, grabbing the body that still lay on top of Dorian and hauling it off him, throwing the man unceremoniously onto the floor. He looked solemn, but incredibly angry. Seras hand found her girlfriends, interlocking their fingers in an attempt to calm the other woman who was still silent and convulsing with fury.

  
Bull stepped toward him then, and he flinched when the hulking man carefully grabbed his robe, tossed unceremoniously to the floor, and placed it over his exposed genitalia. Bull looked at him as if to silently ask if he was okay, and Dorian shook his head in the negative. Bull hummed. Before asking if it was okay for him to hold Dorian and if he wanted to be carried to his room. Dorian now realized that he was shaking violently.

  
He looked at Bull, his grey skin and scarred face bearing no resemblance to any man that had hurt him before. He nodded, still not finding the power to speak. Bull waited until Dorian was wrapped in his robe before picking him up. One strong arm was under his knees and the other supported his back.  
Bull decided to take the mage to his room. Taking Dorian back to his own sleeping chamber would require him to carry the distraught, half dressed man through the packed tavern, which he doubted he’d appreciate.

  
Dorian sniffled, and spared a moment to turn to Ella. She had turned away from him, head in Seras shoulder, sobbing. He felt guilty being the cause of her pain. _My fault_.

  
He looked away, laying his head against Bulls chest, comforted by the Qunaris’ booming heartbeat.

  
When Bull got to his room Dorian had relaxed slightly, still broken and shaken but thankful that the bustling crowd downstairs hadn’t seen his weak form. He was tired, and scared.

  
Bull laid him down gently on the bed, covering him with a thin blanket. “I’ll sleep over there,” he rumbled, gesturing to a nearby couch which Dorian guessed Ella had gifted him to fill the empty space.

  
The last thing he heard was the door opening, the Inquisitors silent form entering and whispering to Bull for a moment, before laying down next to him and running her fingers through his hair. Dorian slept fitfully that night.

 


	7. Blonde Hair, Blue Eyes

Dorians depression had never been as bad as it was in the days that followed.

  
He knew the feeling well. A deep, painful, emotional feeling of absolute terrifying despair so awful that he couldn’t move or eat or brush his hair. It had happened after the incident with his father, and again after his first abusive lover before he became almost immune to emotional trauma. Sometimes, as Dorian lay in bed wrapped in tear streaked covers and smelling of booze and sweat, he figured himself a veteran. A stoic, war hardened beacon of strength who’d seen it all. He imagined himself metaphorically scarred; wounds to show his many brushes with death. People admired and feared him, in his head. He was strong and undefeatable; capable of anything.

  
“You are strong. And you’ve had many brushes with death. Some of which I’ve seen first hand.”

He was suddenly aware of a large hand stroking his forearm. The pillow where he laid his head was not a pillow but a strong chest, it’s greyish color and raised scar tissue intriguing his muddled mind. He let out a small sound of confusion. “Guess you were thinking out loud huh, Big Guy?”

  
Dorian groaned in response, attempting to lean back into the muscled chest and fall back into what ever hazy dose he was in prior.

  
The Iron Bull reached his hand up, combing it through the almost matted curls. Dorian had taken to temporarily living in his room, not finding the willpower to leave his bed. Bull didn’t mind, but was concerned for the mages well fair. He had never seen the usually immaculate Vint in such a state, and as much as he hated to admit it, it scared him.

  
So the Qunari stayed with him, giving him as much support as his mere presence would allow. He didn’t question, or dig around where he wasn’t wanted. _That’s Coles job_ , he mused to himself, remembering how the spirit boy had been strictly ordered away from his room while Dorian was there. The lad had poked his little blonde head around the corner of the door way later in the night after Dorians traumatic experience, a look of concern and sadness laced with a powerfuld etermination. “Let me help.”

Ella had gotten up from the bed, kind smile not quite reaching puffy eyes and dried blood on her shirt. She had placed her hands on Coles shoulders, before stroking his hair and whispering something in his ear. Both Bull and Dorian already knew that the spirit was aware of what had happened, and he seemed stricken. Ella had led the boy out of the room, no doubt some lecture about ‘good intentions’ on her lips as she did so.

  
Sera had similarly visited, her eyes wide and full of concern. She had sat on the edge of the bed in unusual silence, Dorian peering at her through his mountain of blankets. She had pranked him mercilessly when he’d first joined the Inquisition, from throwing piles of snow at him after the disaster at Haven to putting copious amounts of horse crap in his boots. She feared him, thought of him as some prissy, arrogant prick. Her pranks had slowed once she realized he was unlikely to respond in any other way than a sharp glare and insults in a language she couldn’t understand. They had stopped altogether when she had started dating Ella, and gotten to know him better through a few shared drinks. Sera, rather begrudgingly, found him quite funny. And while she hated the sparkles that danced across his skin in battle, or how long he took to get ready for just about everything, she had to admit that she quite liked the mage. She had reached forward to give him an exceptionally awkward pat upon his shivering shoulder, followed by a light squeeze. “It’ll get better, yeah? Just you wait.”

  
Bull smiled, and Dorian shifted slightly. He mumbled something incoherent and likely self deprecating, before shifting again, looking up at Bull with eyes damp and tired.

  
“You don’t have to do this you know,” Dorian mumbled, body betraying his words as he seemed to snuggle closer to the inhuman warmth that radiated off of the grey skin.

  
“Do what?”

  
“Keep me here, I hate to burden you like this. I know you feel some sense of moral duty but I assure you, you don’t _have_ to.”

  
“Dorian I…” Bull trailed off, chest rumbling as he hummed, thinking of what to say next. The confidence in his voice wavered ever so slightly as he paused in his meticulous quest to carefully place each word in the sentence he was forming in his head as if it were an intricate puzzle, plotted and designed with the sole purpose of not scaring the other man away. He didn’t want to tell Dorian how truly easy the choice to care for him was. He didn’t want to say how the decision had been almost as quick as calling the retreat when his Chargers faced certain death. He didn’t want Dorian to know that it had taken something as awful as Dorian nearly being raped for him to truly realize how strongly he felt about the other man. Caring for Dorian seemed like second nature. Bull liked the man as more than a friend. He huffed, almost feeling uncannily like how he imagined Cole must feel with the absolute overwhelming desire to heal and help and protect.

  
Dorian couldn’t know.

  
No matter how much he wished to deny it, he was delicate at this moment. Bull wasn’t an idiot, he could tell there was something going on. The way Ella seemed to stick around Dorian ever so slightly more than usual. The way she had whispered for Bull to care for him when she couldn’t before laying down with Dorian. Bull knew Dorian wasn’t ready to hear how he truly felt, and the last thing he wanted was for Dorian to explode in rage or sadness or accusations targeted at him for looking upon him with pity.

  
“It’s fine, Dorian. I care about you, you know?”

  
Dorian didn’t seem happy with that answer, but ultimately too tired to complain, opting to lay back and begin dozing again. Bull smiled at him choosing to rest, but was concerned about the quick resignation and neutral look upon the other man’s face. Dorian wasn’t usually easy and compliant to work with.  
In the next two days, Dorian seemed to find the strength to battle his demons back, and started to care for himself again. Bull and Ella both shared concerned glances at each other. While it was great that Dorian was recovering, they both knew him well enough to know he’d simply hide his emotional turmoil under a façade, a mask of sorts, until people ultimately stopped being concerned. It was shaped and perfected like an ancient statue, and Dorian plastered it on painstakingly until it was perfect, until he was back to the version of himself which people tutted and glared at. _Pompous Vint._

  
It was like a shield. It blocked the painful words and wounding glares. Dorian would confide in himself as he stared into space in the darkness of the library; tired and slightly drunk. _They hate the mask, not me._ Dorian had learned that his true self would never be okay, so never showing it was the best course of action. He had almost smiled, clapped at the sheer intelligence of the thought.

  
Bull quietly stood in the door way as Dorian heaved himself up from the bed, usual grace quickly diminished like the flame of a small candle. Tan hands still trembled and twitched as he buttoned his shirt, barely noticeable to anyone except Bull’s trained eye. Dorian hadn’t yet completely schooled his body into emotionally devoid compliance.

  
“Maybe you’re rushing this. I can tell you’re struggling, Dorian. What you went through is hard to recover from.”

  
That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. And as Bull’s voice finished rumbling throughout the room Dorian flinched before freezing entirely. The mage whipped around staring. Where Bull expected anger and accusation in the other man’s eyes he saw nothing except neutral disinterest. It was almost as if he was _boring_ Dorian.

  
“I appreciate your…help, Bull, but I would very much like to care for myself. I merely wish to catch up on my research, so I’ll hardly be straining myself.”

  
Bull just nodded, realizing that even if he had a one thousand page essay listing every reason Dorian should stay, the mage wouldn’t listen. The other man finished lacing his boots with a slight struggle that was definitely noticed by the Qunari and slipped past and out the door. Bull stared at the spot he had been in sadly, not knowing how to help.

  
Despite his earlier words, Dorian had taken a _slight_ detour and found himself alone walking the battlements. He peered down over the edge at the impressive height before reaching down and throwing a discarded pebble over the edge. He watched it fall, before disappearing into the mist.

  
He felt guilty for not truly appreciating the help of the others. _His friends_. He tried the dreaded f-word on his lips, finding that it felt alien. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the face of his attacker. It he was willing to hurt him like that, then what of the others? He felt uneasy in Skyhold now, and probably would for a long time. He was despised, and didn’t know how to fix it. This wasn’t him. Dorian wasn’t like this. He was smart and quick witted and calm and charismatic. Yet he couldn’t talk down the rising bile in his throat. _Why do they hate me?_

  
It seemed a childish concern. Worrying about being liked. But the thought of loneliness was so deep and vast it swallowed him whole, dampening his mood, making him feel as if there was no escape.

  
He threw up over the side of the castle.

  
“Dorian?”

  
Dorian whipped his head up, turning to the intruder, fixing his moustache and hair. He froze when their eyes met.

  
Cullen Rutherford looked at the other man curiously. He hadn’t seen him in weeks and, upon being stood up for their weekly chess matches, had grown worried. Apparently an incident had happened at the tavern, and he was with Bull, but Sera had been incredibly loose on the details as she explained the dead body that lay in one of the tavern rooms. Now he realized his worry was well placed. Dorian had paled despite dark skin, and was looking at him in _fear_?

  
He stepped closer slowly, trying to soften his seemingly constant grim expression to one of kindness. “Pavus, it’s me, is everything alright?”

  
Dorian felt an uncontrollable panic enter him, hot and strong and terrifying. Cullens face was pale and handsome, fair eyes and blonde hair sending Dorian into an uncontrollable flashback. _He looks just like…_

  
_He remembers spinning, holding tightly to broad shoulders, soundless music guiding their rhythm as they danced. The sun was setting in front of the hill they danced on, casting everything in a golden glow._

  
_“I love you,” Dorian exclaimed breathlessly, stroking his lovers blonde curls._

  
_The other man smiles._

_The scene fades to black before opening again on the same lovers angry eyes. He struck Dorian again and again and again until he lost count, loosing himself in endless cries and pleas to stop. Dorian felt his hands raise, a spell on his lips to defend himself before stopping at another harsh smack. Blonde hair cascaded around handsome features as the other man glared at him, fair skin lightened further by the firelight._

  
Cullen was shocked at Dorians reaction, and ran over to the man as he fell to the floor, hyperventilating. Cullen knew how to deal with panic attacks from his own experience and wanted to help, but when he reached out to the distraught mage Dorian screamed, a small ball of red hot flame escaping from his finger tips. The commander dodged it. Cullen panicked, a hand riding up to tug at his hair, unsure of what to do. Ella was out in the Emerald Graves and wouldn’t be back for a few days. His curls fell over his eyes as he remembered what Sera had told him about Iron Bull watching over Dorian. He looked over to Dorian briefly, before turning to the smoldering black mark left by the spell. He ran to get the Qunari. 


	8. 4,7,8

Bull swung at Krem harder than he intended to.

  
It was strange for him. He was no stranger to people viewing him as a blood thirsty beast, and made no attempt to correct them despite their opinions being completely contradicted by fact. He _liked_ people viewing him like that, the vision made him feel even more powerful.

  
But it wasn’t true.

  
Every move, every flinch, every swing was calculated. He fancied himself a boat with a set destination, coordinates marking every move. Feet apart, he would roll his shoulders and charge, ending an enemy with a couple swings before repeating.

  
A loss of control was a fancy fantasy. A blood thirsty beast charging into battle, killing every thing in sight. It was a thought best left in the minds of others. They didn’t need to know about his mental map, his checklist of things he needed to do, his sheer accuracy. Violent beast made for better stories, and was a good image to have in the mercenary business.

  
The young man facing him now staggered harshly, the blow hitting his shoulder, but regained his footing quickly. He looked up at Bull with fierce determination and parried. The training fight finished quickly, both men taking a break to gather themselves. Bull caught Krem wincing, rolling the shoulder he’d hit.

  
“I appreciate the challenge but I ain’t a training dummy, Chief.”

  
Krem was laughing the pain off, and Bull felt a small pang of guilt. He just grunted in response, unsure of what to say. Expressing remorse would probably cause Krem to roll his eyes and slap him, and telling the Lieutenant the source of his distress would make it a problem that existed outside of his head, and he wasn’t ready for that.

  
Dropping his weapon, Bull sat on a fallen log that worked as a makeshift bench. His knee was sure to take revenge later but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his legs, and with nothing else to do settled for glaring at the patch of yellowing grass in front of him. It was too warm.

  
He felt another heavy weight hit the log next to him, and glanced over. Krem had sat in the same position as him, two mugs of water in hand and Bulls ginormous tunic covering his torso and legs and slipping off his shoulders. It was too hot for constricting armor, and Bull figured Krem felt comfortable enough in the looseness of his tunic to go without, though he still felt grateful at the sheer amount of trust it took. _Maybe Krem knowing would be better._

  
“Here you go,” Krem said, passing a large mug of water and rudely interrupting his inner musings. “What’s got you all moody then, Chief, or is it just ‘beat the crap out of Krem day' today? Come to think of it, I ain’t even seen you pissin’ it up in the tavern recently. Don’t tell me you’re avoiding me?” The last sentence was accompanied by him doing a ridiculously over the top impression of a saddened face, dark hair falling into his eyes in an attempt cheer the Qunari up.

  
Bull rolled his eyes, and shoved the other man playfully, spitting some quick witted retort before regaining seriousness.

  
“It’s Dorian.”

  
Krems face darkened. Bull knew it had taken a lot for Krem to trust the man, but he cared for him quite a lot, and had been pestering Bull with concerned glances and comments ever since the mage snapped at him in the tavern a few weeks past. The Lieutenant shifted again, sitting slightly closer to Bull, their position identical now, and leaned in closer, almost as if Bull was about to tell him some childhood secret. Despite all this, Bull found himself hesitant, unsure of what Krems reaction would be despite knowing him for years. Bull stuck to his lighthearted approach to things.

  
“If you laugh, ‘Beat the crap out of Krem day' will become a national holiday.”

  
Krem chuckled at that but nodded in earnest, lightly moving his hand to place it on Bulls shoulder in a comforting gesture. Bull rolled his eyes, but appreciated it, though not without having to hold in the dire need to piss Krem off with a stupid pun. He sucked in a breath, composing the sentence carefully like his moves on the battlefield, his mind a strategic game of chess. “I like him, and I want him to be happy,” he finally said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter as much as it did. “And it’s shitty because he acts like no one cares but _I care_ , Krem. I care and I feel like a selfish prick because he’s going through a lot right now and I feel like I’m taking advantage of that.”

  
The other man was looking at him oddly, and he shrugged again in what he hope appeared to be disinterested nonchalance. “So I hit things to make it better.”

  
Bull laughed but it was dry and wore off quickly, the seriousness of the conversation overshadowing it like a thundercloud. It was a strange aura that scarcely existed between the two. But it was a strange topic. It wasn’t as if Dorian had rejected his advances before. They’ve had casual sex before. But now a feeling of guilt over shadowed him, like he’d took advantage of Dorian without even knowing. _No, I didn’t,_ he mentally reasoned, _Dorians a consenting adult_.

  
Krem was still looking at him, one eyebrow raised as it always was when he was about to respond with a witty riposte to one of Bulls half hearted insults. But he didn’t laugh, as promised. Bull stared at the sky.

  
“You just gotta be there for him, I guess.”

  
Despite the earlier promise, Bull was still surprised at the sincerity of the statement, and looked down at the other man.

“Shockingly, you ain’t as stupid as you look,” Krem paused to see the Qunari smirk at the comment before continuing, “you know this isn’t what he needs right now. But stay with him, be his friend, and maybe this weird Qunari- ‘Vint love story your thinking of might not be so out of the question. You’ve slept with him haven’t you?”

  
“I’ve slept with everyone.”

  
“Touché. But you know what I mean. You’ve just need to help him get through this for now. He’s a resilient little shit, but everyone needs a friend don’t they?”

  
They sat in comfortable silence after that, both having said their piece. The weight on Bulls chest seemed to lessen slightly, and he was almost content. He stared up at the sky again.

  
An incredibly disgruntled looking Commander ran up to them, eyes wide and sweating. His curls stuck up at awkward angles, and he made a half hearted attempt to smooth them before speaking.

  
“Bull, it’s Dorian.”

  
The Qunari sprang up faster than his knee would agree with.

  
“What’s wrong is he alright?”

  
“I-I,” Cullen stuttered, turning around to look somewhere in the distance, hand on his nape, “I don’t know, I greeted him and he started to have some sort of panic attack.”

  
Adrenaline hitting him like a well aimed arrow, Bulk grabbed the other man by the arms. “Where?”

  
“On the battlements.”

  
Bull moved faster than he thought himself able, leaving Krem to check on the frazzled Commander. It was instinctual, he didn’t think about it. He was hardly conscious of his legs moving or the intimidated stares of civilians as he came crashing through crowds and up stairwells.

  
He stopped dead when he found Dorian.  
The man was curled up, shaking and heaving, purple electricity dancing across his arms and through his fingers.

  
Bull approached slowly, trying to make his footsteps firm enough to alert the other man. “Hey, it’s okay.”

  
Dorian jumped despite his efforts, looking up at Bull, his eyes were wide and red and he looked scared. Bull crouched down low, lowering himself to the humans height, and placed his hands out with the palms facing Dorian. “It’s me Dorian, you’re having a panic attack.”

  
Dorian seemed ever so slightly less distressed at the sight of Bull, but was still breathing much too hard. The magic had died down slightly, but he was alert and ready to lash out at any moment. Bull got slightly closer. _Think!_ “Follow my breaths, Dorian.”  
Bull made an effort to make extremely exaggerated breaths, encouraging Dorian when he said he couldn’t do it.

-

With breaths came numbers. Four in, hold for seven and then out for eight. It calmed him, the logical thinking. He could work with numbers, they were easier than feelings or words, he could follow them. At first his breath was fast and uncontrollable, and steadying it seemed an impossible task. Even _thinking_ about breathing was out of the question, his mind too focused on past pain. But soon he found it, like grabbing the leash of a violent mutt, and he soon found himself regaining control. Breaths came easier, like a splash of water on his face, filling his lungs with the wonderful, life saving oxygen they were deprived of.

  
He looked up at the man in front of him. The muscles, the scars, the gray skin adorning it all. His magic died out completely, and he just found himself staring, empty and emotionally drained, but still wary.

  
The low rumble of Iron Bulls voice caught his attention again.

“Dorian I’m going to touch you, if I do anything you don’t like just say ‘Katoh’ and I will stop.”

  
The warning settled him slightly, his panic receding now he knew what was coming next. He nodded shakily, eyes averting Bulls. The other man started by smoothing large hands over his shoulders, and down his arms. The Qunari took his hands, running calloused thumbs over his knuckles. Dorians breathing was truly steady now, focusing on the touch. It was gentle, kind and _wanted_ ; unlike anything he’d experienced from another man.

  
“I’m sorry.”

  
Bull thought back to the night Dorian had apologized the first time, it seemed to be repeating itself in an almost eerie fashion.  
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Bull said, steady and calm.

  
“I do. I messed up again. I saw Cullens face and panicked.”

  
“That wasn’t your fault.”

  
“Yes it was Bull! If I wasn’t so messed up it wouldn’t of happened! If I wasn’t such an idiot they wouldn’t hit…” Dorian trailed off, and Bulls face darkened.

  
“Dorian, I don’t know your story and I don’t need to. No one deserves to be abused.”

  
Dorian looked like he was to retort, but Bull took his chin, gently pushing him to look up. The warrior kissed him, quick and gentle but a kiss none the less. It felt as if, for a brief second, all the nagging thoughts of self loathing were vanquished. Bull pulled away quickly, a look of almost guilt on his face, and Dorian couldn’t find words.

  
“I-I-“

  
“Come on, you need rest.”


	9. The art of learning to love oneself

The next few weeks were easier, though still a mountain to climb in Dorians mind.  
Every day seemed to weigh Dorian down, depression a thunder cloud seemingly intent of wrapping him up like a blanket, before tightening, unbearably tight, suffocating him. Breathing became laborious, Dorian feeling as if his lungs were filled with rocks. He just stared ahead, blankly, the wall seemingly the most interesting thing in the world. Every corner in his life full of darkness and misery.

  
Then there was Bull, like the light at the end of a long tunnel, saving him from darkness and despair with gentle words and kind touches, banishing every trace of misery.  
It was strange to Dorians muddled mind, being cared for. Scary and foreign, he looked upon the seemingly free affection the same way the residents of Skyhold looked at him, with distrust. Nothing came free, and at first he assumed Bull wanted something in return. No doubt the Qunari would expect he give his body away in return. It wasn’t as if it they hadn’t slept together before. But soon those thoughts diminished when the Iron Bull still persevered with his mission to help him. Even when he found Dorian, slumped over, covered in snot and vomit and heaving with hard sobs, he stayed gentle and kind, stroking sweaty hair from his face and wiping his chin with a cloth. Yet that only left Dorian more confused because he knew, he knew better than anyone, that people weren’t just kind without a motive, _especially_ Altus mages and Qunari of all people.Dorian Pavus knew better than to expect this to last.

  
The rest of the Inquisition were still prickly but lesser than usual. Blackwall blissfully ignored him when he was on a walk, and Vivienne, of all people, had _nodded_ her head at him in a greeting when the passed in the castle. Cullen had apologized to him, face red and nervous, Dorians fingers still twitched and trembled preparing for some kind of attack that never came, but he forgave the man, apologizing himself for the reaction. “I-It will get better,” was all Cullen said, the words carrying more weight than the tone, his own experience leaking through the look in his eyes before the blond turned away awkwardly. The indifference of his companions was relaxing, yes, he could quietly research and eat and have a panic attack without interference or abuse, but he didn’t allow himself to get that conformable, he wasn’t a fool.

Once again, Bull had surprisingly been the biggest comfort throughout this ordeal, his presence not overbearing but undoubtedly _there_. It was nice to be cared about and looked out for, by all of the Chargers really.A few weeks after his Cullen-induced panic attack, Bull had been begrudgingly pulled away form his self assigned duty as caregiver, the Inquisitor in need of his skills away from Skyhold, _I wouldn’t ask unless I needed to, my darling._ Bull had shrugged, mutter something along the lines of, “it’s what you pay me for, Boss,” trying to sound indifferent. Dorian could tell he was anything but, even before Cole helpfully piped up with the news.

  
So he walked, one arm looped through Krems while the other gripped his staff slightly tighter than usual, the weapon keeping him steady when depression weighed him down, making it hard to stand and get from one area to the other, but also grounding him. The man he was currently looping arms with, the one who’d offered to accompany him on his walk in Bulls absence, looked perplexed, brows furrowed. Dorian decided not to question it, entirely too focused on the fact that Krem even wanted to speak to him. He had always been kind, though distrusting at first, they were both from Tevinter but may as well be from different continents, the only thing they shared was a language and a home that wanted them to be anything but what they were. “We’re _nothing_ alike, Altus.” Dorian remembered the words the warrior had said to him during their first real conversation. Dorian knew it to be true, he was hardly a ‘man of the people’, and in Tevinter he’d made no attempt to be. It still stung, and Krem had unknowingly given him a mere shadowed impression of how the rest of the Inquisition would come to perceive him. They were different indeed, Krem was not an ‘evil Magister’. And yet he still grew on Dorian, once Bull had considered him ‘probably not an enemy’ the Chargers warmed up to him, Krem included. He was a good friend, if not stiff and prone to glares.

  
Their walk had appeared silent so far, the only noise being the constant loudness of Dorians thoughts. _Perhaps I should say something._ Krem coughed, slow and deliberate, interrupting the thought almost before it was finished.

  
“I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Altus.”  
A million thoughts rushed though his head at once. All the things he’d said, done and thought of saying or doing rushing to the surface. He was so tired, he didn’t want to fight anymore.

  
“Yes?” It was slow and shakily and positively humiliating.

  
Krem didn’t notice, or if he did he chose to ignore the nervousness that overcame his companions stance. He carried on walking, armored arm still intertwined with Dorians robed one. “It’s about the Chief.”

  
“Oh.”

What if Krem disapproved of this weird little companionship they had going on? _What if he tells me to fuck off on Bulls behalf?_

  
“I just wanted to let you know that he’s a good guy. So what if he’s a brute and an arsehole who says stupid jokes and sleeps with anything with a pulse. He is a good guy. His hearts in the right place, even if his brain ain’t. I’ve never seen him look and any pretty barmaid the way he does you, Dorian. You deserve him as much as he deserves you, remember that."

  
Krem said this this casually, face never changing, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Dorian didn’t comment on the fact that the Warrior thought their relationship was _something_. Instead he replayed the words, over and over like one of his flashbacks. The idea that someone could like him, however broken and foolish and depressed, was strange and terrifying and-

  
_Wonderful_.

  
Thoughts quickly flooded his mind again, though this time not anxiety ridden. Instead they were good, they made him feel happy and hopeful and even though the anxiety and sadness that seemingly always loomed over him tried to battle it down, it came out on top. Dorian smiled, it was strained and awkward from lack of positivity in his life but it was a smile. For the first time, he looked forward to the future.

* * *

 

Bull was telling him of a game of Wicked Grace in the tavern of which the Inner Circle would be attending. The Qunari spoke of it with a chuckle and smirk, before reassuring Dorian that he would stay with him. Dorian rolled his eyes slightly. The thought of The Iron Bull missing out on these things crushed him, and he didn’t wish it upon the man.

  
“Please go, Bull, I _really_ would appreciate it if you did.”

  
Bull turned, eye on him suspiciously, oddly devoid of jokes. “You sure?”

  
“I’m hardly in a state to be running off, if I need you I’ll call for you! Surely you would not wish for me to mother you as you have me.”

  
Bull looked at him, but sensed the joke immediately and chuckled, before nodding and saying goodbye. Dorian could tell he was on the fence about it, but ushered him away quickly.

  
When he was sure Bull was gone, he stretched, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath, before gathering himself and leaving for his own Chambers. _I can do this_.

  
It was cold as he treaded across Skyhold, his inner anxieties collaborating with the weather causing him to be chilled, hands clammy. He pushed though, bad thoughts a brick wall in front of him. He couldn’t allow this any longer. Dorian knew he couldn’t let his past destroy him, not now, not when he had something so wonderful to look forward to. A relationship that _mattered_.

  
Dorians hand slipped on the doorknob, but it opened on the second try, revealing the comforting yet unfamiliar corner he resided in. This was it. Pavus was calm and selective of his clothing, switching his mindset something refined and cool. He was tactful in comparing the several robes he’d acquired to his skin, looking deeply for the undertones of the fabrics and matching pieces like an intricate puzzle. Once he’d settled for a simple get fine magenta garment, he laid it gently on his chair, overly careful not to crumple or crease the delicate rectangles of refined silk. Dorian grabbed a pair of small stud earrings, a gorgeous silver with small beads adoring the circumference, and placed them on a book, now a makeshift jewelry stand. The simple necklace matched the studs, and he found it to be pretty against his collarbones.

  
Once everything was assembled perfectly, he turned to clean himself, washing away the days sweat and applying oils to his hair and skin. When he returned, he eyed the clothing, checking for imperfections or mismatched colors. He stepped forward, pulling the robe over himself and fastening it in the correct places, leaving his left arm exposed from shoulder to wrist. He put on the jewelry slowly, eyeing the way it complimented his skin before grabbing a few rings and bracelets too. _More can’t hurt_ , he thought, chuckling. He applied makeup, making sure every line and detail was to the highest standard and beyond.

  
When Dorian was ready, he turned to face himself in his long mirror, and gasped.  
Staring back at him was not a man who was depressed, not a man who was broken, not a man who was hated and scorned by everything and everyone around him.  
It was a man who was strong, who was capable, who was cared for and appreciated and _fucking gorgeous._

  
And he liked it. For the first time in what seems like forever he _liked_ himself.

  
Dorian nearly ran to the tavern, but settled for a fast walk, forcing himself to remain composed, a task more easily said than done. He found that despite it all, the anxiety was still there, bubbling up but not quite reaching the surface, causing his breath to quicken slightly.

  
He opened the door and his eyes widened.  
Though the bustle and noise, he saw the Inner Circle. They sat at a table, cards in hand, laughter, stories and jokes on lips, warmth and hope radiating off each and every one of them. Ella was in the center, her hand in Seras and giggling , clearly already tipsy, but happy. She met eyes with Dorian, and her happiness visibly turned to glee.

  
“Dorian! Look at you! Come here!” She was smiling and beckoning with overexcited hand gestures.

  
The rest of the table turned, and Dorian expected looks of disgust, but instead was met with warm smiles and nods of agreements. It was a lot for him to take in, nervousness coming again, his hands trembling.

  
In that moment Dorian met Bulls eye, he was smiling, kind, bright and the source of comfort in Dorians life. The Qunari moved, pulling an empty seat next to him, a seat Dorian was desperate to fill.

  
Dorian took a deep breath, and walked towards them, spreading his arms in a confident gesture and doing a little spin, causing the Inquisitor to clap joyfully. 

"Have no fear my dears, _finally_ someone fashionable has arrived." 

The chuckles and eye rolls made him flinch but, feeling a large hand on his back, he calmed and took his cards.

 


End file.
